This Week I’ve Mostly: Been Nursing My Swollen Glands

I have spent another week laid low by illness. It’s now clear that The Boy’s arrival signalled the demise of my relatively ox-like constitution – leaving me with a hole in my immune system that the ozone layer would be proud of. I’m ticking off illnesses now on the bingo card of my body’s feeble defences. This was quite a good one – glandular fever – which probably gets me a whole row (I should surely win a radio alarm clock, or something).

Glandular fever is pish. That’s a fair appraisal, I’d say. I’ve been falling asleep all over the place, and really struggling to make it to the end of the day for weeks. I sent Cat a text from work a fortnight ago:

It’s REALLY not like me to be dramatic!!!!

Naturally Cat assumed I was being a drama queen, and I was inclined to agree. Indeed, even when my throat started to give out, I pushed through it like an idiot:

Side note – I’m really shit at climbing.
Something to do with defying gravity with my near-100kg sweaty frame, I’d wager.

Needless to say, by the time my tonsils were red raw and weeping pus, I could barely swallow or keep my eyes open. WARNING – gratuitous and graphic throat pic to follow:

This wasn’t even at the height of my plague

I thought at one point that I might actually die from the constant searing pain, and said as much to Cat. In the way that only she can, Cat reminded me that I had said that about my recent sinus infection, a minor cold, and a paper cut.

Glandular fever is more serious than I had given it credit for, though. I can’t drink for 3 months (no problem there), because my liver has taken a battering – and I have to lay off the sports for 8 weeks (REALLY no problem there) to give my spleen a chance to return to normal and avoid life-threatening internal bleeding. There’s a bit of drama for you!

I’ve taken all the pain killers I can, and watched all the Netflix and iPlayer I could handle. I’ve slept through the days, and lain awake at night. It’s been a pretty rubbish wee while, but I can see the light at the end of the tunnel! A few more months of exhaustion seem likely, apparently, so I’m strapping myself in for a bit of a rough ride – but I’m back at work as of today.

The one saving grace in this tale is that I haven’t lost my appetite (though I also haven’t moved much) – and what would this blog be without a foodie angle, eh? Unfortunately, the food story I bring you this week might see that appetite off briefly…

My brother in law has been calling me Glandular Beaver, which I have adopted as a temporary nickname in our house. I googled the phrase, expecting to find some good old fashioned smut, but was disappointed and horrified in equal measure. What I found was far from vanilla – though not that far. Searching for a vanilla substitute for that creamy rice pudding? Why not try beaver anal glands? I’m all for nose-to-tail eating, but this surely falls into a similar category of ‘how in god’s name did you work that one out’ as the ‘turducken from hell’ (or Kiviak) – an Icelandic delicacy/abomination consisting of 400 birds (feathers, beaks, and all) buried and fermented inside a seal carcass. My dad got a puppy recently, and after hearing about its arse gland troubles in fairly graphic detail, I’m fairly happy to give this ingredient a miss.

I’ll be back here soon with some more (proper) foodie content – I feel like I’ve neglected that side of the blog recently. Let me know if there’s anything you’d like to see here!

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